


Instinct Blues No. 1

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Series: covert and clandestine [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, Assassins, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Champcenest job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instinct Blues No. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one actually takes place before 'Cry Havoc', but it's not apparent from this section.

"We intercepted a call this morning outside Champcenest, in France," Fick says. "Man on a cell phone. Stationary. Keyword: Blue Orchid."

"Why's our team named after a White Stripes song anyway?" Ray asks, flipping a tiny screwdriver rapidly between his fingers, a disassembled radio on the table in front of him.

Brad plucks the screwdriver from his hand. "You're going to take someone's eye out with this. Shut up and let the LT finish."

Shawn resists the urge to roll his eyes. Fick ignores the drama of Ray and Brad and continues. "I've asked Godfather for rendition protocols, but he's indicated this isn't going to go that far. Mattis wants termination. North Atlantic Surveillance is tracking the target now. Pappy, Rudy, this one's you."

"Aye-aye, sir," Rudy says. Ray mutters something under his breath about how Brad's no longer the teacher's pet, and gets four stern looks in response.

Fick taps his pen on that table. "That will be all for today," he says, and "Godspeed, gents." Hearing that, Shawn knows they're dismissed.

Fifteen hours later, he and Rudy are in a transport chopper, descending into a field. They jump out dark before the rails touch down, and run for the treeline as the helicopter lifts away. Shawn crouches beneath a pine tree, steadying his breathing and scanning his sectors. Then he feels Rudy's light touch on his shoulder and rises. They run again.

By sunrise, they've located the target and Shawn is stretched out on the soft earth of the higher ground, rifle comfortable in his hands. His elbows are planted firmly in the dirt. The house is still and silent, but it's early. "Coffeemaker just turned on," Ray's voice says through the radio transmitter in his ear.

"Wind at ten knots," Rudy murmurs from his right. "Kitchen window... two hundred and four yards."

Shawn dials in the scope. Skims his gloved finger along the trigger.

"Movement left, top window."

"I see it," he breathes, tracking the figure. It's the wife. They're not here for her.

Another figure appears, in a lower window. "Movement, first floor."

"Got it." It's their target, wearing a green bathrobe. He seems to be heading for the kitchen. He disappears behind a solid wall for a few seconds, then reappears in the kitchen window.

"Bravo Two has target in sight," he radios to Person.

"Green light," Ray answers.

Shawn lines up the target, now pouring coffee into a mug. "Fire, fire, fire," Rudy chants, and Shawn squeezes the trigger.

The target drops in a mist of blood and coffee, and a hail of shattered glass. A moment later, barely long enough to breathe, Rudy says, "Hit."

Shawn glasses the target, then toggles the radio. "Bravo, this is Bravo Two. Hit confirmed. Request extraction."

They disassemble the rifle in under ten seconds and are back into the trees before the anguished scream of the man's wife breaks through the air. Shawn keeps running, pushing through low-hanging branches and leaves still wet with morning dew that dampens his gloves. Patches of mud squelch occasionally under the heels of his boots. Their extraction touches down as they clear the field, and they leap aboard to the beating of the rotor blades. He winds his fingers through the straps, grips tightly as they lift off.

Once they've settled in the helicopter, Rudy pounds on his thigh. Shawn just shakes his head. He's been doing this for three years now and he still hasn't figured out how he's supposed to feel after they kill someone. Part of him wants to squirm uncomfortably until the feeling has completely fallen away and he can breathe in a manner that passes for normal.

"Pappy, my man, you okay?" Rudy shouts in his ear, squeezing his knee.

Shawn forces himself to grin for Rudy's sake, and knocks their shoulders together. "Nothin' a cup of your coffee won't cure."

"That can be arranged, brother." Rudy grins back, and Shawn feels better already.


End file.
